


Bitter Ends

by Starsounds223



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Daenerys Deserved Better, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Honestly Jon Deserved Better Too, Other, Politics, R Plus L Equals J, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2020-05-01 07:29:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19171339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starsounds223/pseuds/Starsounds223
Summary: Daenerys destroys the Red Keep in a murderous vengeful rampage - but does she have to? What if she hadn't traveled north? Do any of Tyrion's attempts at alliances matter if the Last Targaryen could take King's Landing with half an army and a single dragon? Tyrion is a bad advisor that drinks and doesn't actually know things. What happens if Dany figures that out early?





	1. Poor Counsel - Part 1

Daenerys stood at the bow the ship, her great army at her back. She could feel the sea winds licking at her cheeks, rustling the few tendrils of hair that dared to escape their braids. Above, dragons circled and screeched, keeping a watchful eye on their mother below. Daenerys had thought to travel astride Drogon but Tyrion had warned her against it, arguing that a queen is best seen among her people. This would be especially true given the great challenge she had set before them. To travel west across the Narrow Sea to fight and, most likely, die. 

She should feel joyous, hopeful. But hope was a luxury that dragons could not afford. Hope was not something to be bought with the fire and blood she knew would come to her enemies. For all the dreams of glory that awaited her in Westeros, there was another emotion swirling below the surface. The fear of losing it all. Falling from Queen, Khaleesi, Mother of Dragons back to the small girl grasping at the hem of her brother’s garments. 

At times like these, when she was worried or afraid, her thoughts seemed to drift to the house with the red door and the scent of lemon trees. To a time where she was a child. Free from the strain of leading, free from the madness yet to grip Viserys and any knowledge of the world beyond her brother’s descriptions. But that time was gone now and so was the brief reverey she had allowed herself as Tyrion approached. 

“What new do you bring me, Hand?”

“My Queen, I’ve come to discuss our plans for landfall. No doubt my sister has heard that the Queen in the East has finally risen to claim the Iron Throne.”

“I’m sure of it. By now Cersei will have done more than listen and lie in wait. We are sure to have a battle waiting for us as we enter Blackwater Bay.” 

“Blackwater? Surely you don’t think we can go directly for the Red Keep. We’ve discussed this your grace. While you have a legitimate claim to the throne as the rightful heir, you must have allies. No one will support a foreign queen with brute force --” 

“You said it yourself, I the heir. The last Targaryen. Why should I allow your sister, the Usuper’s wife to sit on the throne a minute longer. She’s killed hundreds, thousands, in the same why my father, the Mad King did. After her first born son proved himself a terror and a tyrant still. She is no hero, no champion. Why would the smallfolk stand for her against me?”

“It is not the smallfolk we must contend with, but the lords of the seven kingdoms --”

“The same lords that cowered under dragonfire centuries before. Even the Starks, with their foolish northron pride, bent the knee in the face of dragon. What need do I have for alliances?”

“You grace, if you hope to break the wheel as you have said many times, you must do it with diplomacy along with force. The time for conquering is over if you hope to bring a lasting peace. Especially for those that would rule after you.” 

Tyrion left the rest unsaid, knowing that the Queen’s mind would turn to her own barrenness and the resulting need to elect a successor. A successor bereft of dragonblood and with it the power to control her sons. What would be of them? What would become of the Realm she was trying to reclaim and hopefully save?

“Think through you next steps. With that course you may well become Queen.The Queen of Ashes.” 

With that Tyrion walked away to rejoin Varys and Grey Worm as they discussed other matters to be solved by the Small Council. Daenerys mulled the imp’s words as she turned back to the sea. The Dragon Queen had a choice to make. A choice she knew would forever define her and the course of the Realm.


	2. Home Again? - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another set-up chapter that covers things we've already seen on screen, but with more emotion, depth (hopefully) and character beats that will pay off later.

She could faintly make out the greyed turrets of the castle in the distance, but there it was all the same - Dragonstone. The place of her birth. Her home, though she had no memories to warm its chilled and empty halls. While the others were in awe of the castle’s size and brooding presence, Daenerys was nearly on the brink of tears, tears she knew the feared Dragon Queen could not shed. At least not here with them in tow. As they reached the shore, Daenerys was the first to exit their small vessel, with long and purposeful strides along the sand. 

She was here, finally, she was here. She had found her home in Westeros and now wished to center herself in this place. As she knelt before the stone behemoth, she gazed upon its strange, dark beauty and felt the weight of it. As if in a trance she palmed the sand beneath her, her thoughts turning to the mother she had never known and bittersweet pangs of what could have been. Dragonstone symbolized everything she had lost and everything she had long hoped to regain. A small detachment of Unsullied marched before her and Daenarys felt her heart swell as they opened the gate to the abandoned fortress that lay ahead. 

Soon the Queen and her small council found themselves at the doors of the great hall. Daenarys noticed a tapestry emblazoned with a Baratheon sigil surrounded by the heart of the Red God. From what she had heard, the Usurper’s brother had been one of the R’hllor’s most ardent acolytes and had travelled with a Red Priestess who had ultimately led him and his army to their doom in the North. She tangled her fingers in the fringe of the tapestry and thought to herself, “Dragons worship no gods”. She pulled the banner down and watched as it flowed to the floor.

The queen and her council entered the throne room. As Daenarys ascended the royal seat’s jagged, rocky stairs there was a pregnant pause. Though it went unspoken, those present watched with bated breath. They waited for the queen to take her rightful place, as all they had worked for began to come to fruition. When Daenarys was level with the throne, Grey Worm started after her, but Missandei held him back. Without words she met his eyes and looked to him as if to say, “The Queen must do this alone.” 

Daenarys lingered near the throne for a moment, then enter the large room behind it. The queen took in a breath then, recognizing it as the Chamber of the Painted Table. Here her ancestors planned their conquests and from here she would reclaim all that was taken from them. She heard, rather than saw Tyrion enter behind her. She shifted her gaze and readied herself. 

“Shall We Begin?”

\-----

After confronting Varys for his many treacheries, Daenerys had grown tired both from their long journey and the strain the emotions the day had wrought. Dismissing her small council, each of them quietly exited the chamber leaving the queen alone with her most loyal servant and dearest friend. 

Missandei drew closer to Daenerys and opened her mouth to speak. Before Missandei could form the words, Daenerys placed a hand on hers, meeting her eyes. 

“You may leave me.” Though her words were few, Daenarys said more with her expression. Missandei eyed her queen, anxious and unsure that solitude what she truly needed in this moment. Rather than argue, she gave a small nod, placing her other hand on top of the queen’s and gave it a small squeeze. She exited the Chamber with a small backwards glance she hoped would go unnoticed. 

When Daenarys was sure she was alone, save for the few Unsullied posted at the throne room doors, she walked back to the throne itself. Standing off to the side, she carefully eyed it running her hands along the carvings of the throne’s armrest. With a halting breath she drew even closer before finally, slowly taking her place on it. Daenaerys could feel the cold stones beneath her and the emotions she had felt earlier out on the sand came rushing back to the surface. In the silence, she slowly bowed her head and began to quietly weep. From sorrow or joy, the queen could not decide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took creative license with the end of this scene but I feel like it was a necessary addition. If you rewatch the opening of "Dragonstone", there are some deep emotions (reverence, sadness, longing for what could have been) on Emilia's face that weren't explored. The score treads the same beats, no matter how oppressive and dark it sounds, at least in my mind. 
> 
> Feel free to comment, especially if you felt differently :)


	3. Alone in the World - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King in the North

Jon stood awkwardly with the weight of the Northern Crown on his head, chants of “King in the North” ringing in his ears. But neither the heft of his newly rendered fur nor the iron at his brow could replace the ever present feeling of otherness he had carried all his life. Jon had somehow let Sansa convince him into accepting the crown as the last Stark heir, but in his heart he was no king. In his own mind, the chanting of the Northern lords was soon replaced with the word that had defined and haunted him from his earliest days - bastard. A bastard fit for nothing, least of all the lordship of his father’s house and the entirety of the kingdom he had once commanded. 

The Little Bear had spurred him onto the throne, more so even than Sansa, shaming each of the Northern houses that had broken their vow to the Starks. Lyanna, said to be every bit the northern she-wolf she was named for, seemed to roar at them despite her size and prove a second talent beyond warfare: shaming grown men. Her high praise had touched him, flattered him even, but it did little to quell his ever present doubt. He had been burdened with the brand of a bastard so long that he had grown accustomed to its weight. He thought back to Stannis Baratheon’s offer of legitimacy. Though he had other reasons for rejection at the time, he knew his acceptance would have probably led him here, to the same end. A king in his castle, a pauper in his head. Having been a bastard so long, he wouldn’t know how to function as a true-born man. Much as a long held prisoner suddenly freed, Jon would in some ways be bereft of meaning without the black mark that had followed him since birth. 

His mind had drifted following the Northern coronation and soon he found himself on a path towards the Stark family quarters high in the rear tower of the fortress. Jon hadn’t been paying attention and suddenly found himself at the door to the King’s quarters. His father’s quarters. Rooms he had not entered in years and never dreamed that he would see again in this life. As he pushed open the door, Lady Lyanna’s words sounded in his ears again. 

“Ned Stark's blood runs through his veins. He's my king, from this day, until his last day.”

He knew full well that Ramsay Bolton had housed his unworthy hide in these halls as well but any trace of him had been rooted out and destroyed by Winterfell’s servants as they sought to restore the keep to its rightful heirs in all ways. The tapestries near the windows and against the far wall bore the Stark sigil, the same sigil emblazoned on the armor at his chest. Jon looked at them both and was struck by the dichotomy that sigil had symbolized in his life. In his younger years he was forbidden to wear it as a bastard, even a recognized one, was not a full member of the family. At least not in the North. Now here he was, the North’s King and last heir given Bran’s condition. 

That sigil had meant much more in his former life and he had ached for it then just as he had long imagined what it would have been like to have been his father’s true-born son. To bask in the knowledge that you were loved. That you were wanted. Jon knew that there was never a lack of affection from his father nor did he care for the few extra extravagances a noble birth may have wrought as, at best, he would have been a second son to Robb’s status as heir. 

What mattered to Jon was the hope of having a name. A family. A true home.

While Winterfell had indeed housed him, it also housed Lady Catelyn’s resentments. His presence was a constant living reminder of her husband’s one folly. As a young child he had dreamed of her one day caring for him and acting as a mother in his own mother’s stead. Very quickly however, he learned that that was not to be. He felt he could not begrudge her her anger, though, as he was exactly what she had proclaimed at least on a factual level. A bastard whose mother had usurped her place in his father’s heart and his bed. What he had wanted from her, she could never have hoped to give. She wasn’t capable of it and in her death Jon had forgiven her as best he could. She was a mother but she would never be his. 

When Jon thought of the word mother, he wished that Ned could have returned from King’s Landing as he had promised and spoken of his her the way he had neglected to for 16 years. Jon sometimes fantasized about how his father would have described her, what she looked like, where she was from. As desperate as he was, Jon would have settled for little more than a name. But every time he allowed himself to spiral into these thoughts, Jon had to remind himself that there was no going back. Whatever Lord Eddard knew he took with him to the grave. 

For now Jon had to center himself and prepare for Ser Davos’ imminent arrival in his chambers. If Jon hoped to keep his newfound kingdom firmly within the realm of the living he must find a way to defeat the Others and stop the Night King. To do so he would need allies as the last few years of infighting and scrambling for the Northern crown had left his people weak, vulnerable and ripe for defeat. If the North fell, it wouldn’t be long before the entirety of the world of men followed suit. 

Davos had spoken of joining the North with a former enemy as both houses needed support in their own battles to come. Besides a marriage, preparing for war was often the best way of quelling a longstanding feud and cementing an alliance. He would answer the request from Dragonstone, but first he must learn more about the Dragon Queen.


	4. Alliances - Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yara and Olenna are two strong women that have stood where the Dragon Queen does now. Will she listen to their warnings?

Daenarys stood near the large open window in the Chamber of the Painted Table, annoyance radiating from her every pore. The row between her small council and her allies had grown tiresome and the Queen was reaching her limit. Not long after retaking the fortress, Tyrion had called for their allies to join Daenarys as they planned to retake the Iron Throne. While each had differing reasons for their alliance with the Dragon Queen, they all agreed on a single item at present - disagreeing with Lord Tyrion. 

Yara wished to plan an immediate attack designed to crush Cersei before she could rally allies while also taking the fight to her traitorous Uncle Euron. Lady Olenna also wished to begin the battle sooner rather than later, calling Tyrion’s plan to infiltrate Dorne utterly preposterous. Ellaria Sand seemed prime for any action that resulted in Cersei’s death. Tyrion for his part continued to stress that the Queen would need to gather more allies in order to secure the Iron Throne rather than causing yet another long and bloody war. As they argued back and forth Daenarys felt her blood begin to boil while her ears had her their fill. 

“Silence!” Before any of the others could utter another word, Daenarys made her displeasure known. “I grow weary of this battle of the wills and as I see it we have two options before us: Attempt to sway other great houses and their people towards our cause and force Cersei to abdicate due to a lack of support or confront her in the open and take the crown by force.”

“Your grace, there are millions of people within the walls of King’s Landing. Smallfolk that Cersei intends to use as a shield. She has already attacked her own kingdom once to exact revenge,” At that Tyrion looked pointedly at Lady Olenna, knowing the cost she had paid during the destruction of the Sept of Baelor. Olenna, for her part returned Tyrion’s gaze with an icy glare. “She must be dealt with carefully otherwise the innocent will continue to pay my sister’s debts.”

“We have an army, a fleet, and three dragons. We should hit King’s Landing now!” Yara was not about to be swayed by Tyrion’s grand pronouncements. To her it made no sense to wait when they clearly held the tactical advantage. Ellaria Sand questioned Tyrion’s stomach for the war ahead and internally Daenarys began to do so as well. 

“We must be diplomatic. The people of Westeros must accept your reign as did the people of Mereen. You have proven yourself a conqueror, yes. But can you have them see you as the rightful Queen?”

Some part of Daenerys wanted rail at Tyrion in that moment as he asks her to forstall all that she had worked for, all that she had known for the entirety of her life. As tired as Daenerys was with this conversation, she was tired of fleeing, fighting, hiding. A final battle would bring a long hoped for a sense of finality, whether she won or lost. The thought of failure, however, gave the Queen pause. She could not allow her own temper to force her to a rash decision. She thought back to her brother, remembering how Viserys’s quest for the crown had cost him not only her love and respect but ultimately his life at Drogo’s hand. While she had never known her elder brother, Rhaegar, what she had been told described a young boy with the makings of a great king struck down in the needless pursuit of a woman. History had shown that dragon blood could prove a double edged sword. Passion and rage. Greatness and folly. Victory and failure. 

The Queen did what she always had when Tyrion pressed her. She relented. “Tyrion, I have heard your counsel on assisting Ellaria Sand and her daughters in the quest for Dorne rather than taking the Red Keep. She shall set sail at once, but not with Queen Yara.”

Eyeing the Ironborn, she continued, “Yara you shall remain here with me to devise a way to integrate some of the Unsullied ranks into the Iron Fleet. Euron and his mean are known for their viciousness and more soldiers aboard would behoove us both if he made attempts to take your ships.” 

Yara drew her brows together in confusion, but let it pass to focus on her anger at being overruled by the Little Lion. “Fine. I shall prepare a ship for the Sand Snakes and return to your other matter later.” With that she and Ellaria stormed out of the chamber and back through the throne room with Tyrion scuttling off to see to the rest of his plan. After the room had mostly cleared Lady Olenna stayed behind. Olenna gestured for the Queen to take the seat across from her and Daenarys obliged. 

“Will you take a bit of advice from an old woman?” At Daenarys’ slight nod, she continued. 

“He’s a clever man, your hand. I’ve known a great many clever men. And I’ve outlived them all. Do you know why?,” Daeanrys met her gaze with questioning eyes. “I Ignored them. The lords of Westeros are all sheep. Are you a sheep? No. You my dear are a dragon. Be a dragon.” With that the Dowager Lady exited, leaving Daenarys to her thoughts.

The Queen considered Tyrion's earlier words, but her mind began to concentrate on Lady Olenna’s warning and her belief that she must be feared as well as loved. She also thought of the Lady’s description of her granddaughter, the much adored Queen just as dead now than if she had been toppled through the people’s hate. Daenerys knew that if she succeeded, her own reign would depend on a careful balance of the two. 

But first she must win.

\------

Yara had retired to her quarters, irate that they would again be stalled due to the imp’s meddling, plotting, and high handed schemes. They had more men than Cersei could ever hope to. They had the alliance of the still functioning kingdoms that surrounded the Crownlands. Cersei couldn’t even flee if she so chose. They had dragons!

For all the coin in the realm, she could not fathom why the Queen would trust him instead of her own good judgment. As Yara considered ways of persuading the Queen upon their next entreaty, a knock came. Irritated at the intrusion, she reached for the door ready to rail at whichever servant dared to disturb her. Where she expected a scullery maid or one of Varys little birds, she found the Dragon Queen herself. Yara was struck, but before she could gather herself to speak Daenerys took the chance to.

“I heard your plan earlier. I asked you to stay behind because I would hear it again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It struck me while re-watching the episode where this real confrontation between Ellaria, Yara, and Olenna happens, that all of these powerful women were trying desperately to overrule this one foolish man. They were all right and 2 of them died along with the Queen as a result of Tyrion's extremely poor counsel. Olenna was especially prescient - wise men look out for themselves. How else do they stick around bouncing from court to court while the monarch they served ends up dead or deposed?


	5. The Road Not Travelled - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the epic delay. For those still reading, I started a new job and grad school (again) last year and that completely ate my life. The lockdown has given me free time and breathing room to get started on this again. I have this story pretty much outlined except to narrowing down to one of two possible ends. Please read and review (unbeta'd as usual)

The Queen again stood surveying her vast lands. She had longed for this for most of her life, the seat of power and position above the Seven Kingdoms. The Iron Throne was finally hers. 

The old crone has said so. After all, each of her other visions had come to pass with disastrous consequences for the both House Lannister and the Queen herself. What irked how now, drawing her from the comforts of her bed, were those prophecies yet to come. While she had indeed seen each of her children in their gilded graves, Tyrion had yet to succeed in having her join them. Though the foreign scourge that sought to unseat her drew ever closer, her father had long ago assured her that dragon spawn would never again taint the halls of the Red Keep. 

For now, Cersei would occupy her mind with thoughts of her next scheme, namely how to separate the drunken pirate Euron both from her bed and his fleet. If she could only dispose of him and gain control of the iron born not yet sworn to the dragon whore. Her latest conquest was proving himself quite the albatross around her neck and far harder to dissuade or distract than Robert ever was. So far she’d had to submit herself to his cloying affections twice already. She was determined that would need to be enough. Enough to convince him of his precious princeling. Enough to leave her be. Perhaps enough for him to have a well timed accident before the birth. Euron was quite fond of a good spar. Perhaps he’d like one with Ser Gergor to celebrate their engagement. 

Cersei’s lips curled into a smile at the thought when she noticed a spate of city lanterns that seemed to have gone out at the far reaches of King’s Landing at what appeared to be the King’s Gate. No matter, the City Watch would sort it. At least that’s what Cersei thought before she noticed even more lanterns extinguish themselves, almost all at once near the Lion Gate and the Dragon Gate as well. The Old Gate. The Mud Gate. The Gate of Gods. Slowly but surely the darkness seemed to be spreading all while the city became eerily quiet. Normally there were intermittent shouts and raucous outbursts in the night, but a hush had fallen on King’s Landing along with the ever advancing darkness. As it grew so did Cersei’s trepidation. Whatever could be the cause at this hour, with her Red Coats and Queen’s Guard and the Iron Born to protect her? As she sought them out with her eyes far below the balcony Cersi saw nothing and no one. No guards at the gates and no one. Nothing but the darkness approaching as the lights continued to blow out at the borders of Flea Bottom nearly at her front door.

Behind her Ser Gregor, ever faithful, stood watch but the nearly dead lump could not contemplate the fear that ran through his queen at that very moment. Just when Cersei thought she could bear no more, she heard a screeching roar in the night. Above her that roar grew louder and to her dismay ever closer to the Keep. The Queen. The Iron Throne.

**Author's Note:**

> That ending was atrocious and will live in infamy in the bad finale hall of fame. With that said the real issue, at least for Daenerys, was that a great female character, with flaws, was reduced to a villainous plot device and robbed of a meaningful ending even in death. D&D's poor treatment of many of the charters we loved reduced years long, poignant journeys to dirt. Unless you were a fan of Sansa or Bran you got a terrible ending. Even then, the ending made no sense. This is my take on a bittersweet ending that, at least in my own mind, actually makes does.
> 
> UnBetaed - Be kind!


End file.
